


The Tutor

by rabidchild67



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat, Fandom Fusion - Fandom, Star Trek RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Canon-Typical sexual dynamics, Consent Issues, Frottage, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, Oral Sex, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-03-30 06:16:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3926011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidchild67/pseuds/rabidchild67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Zachary is asked to tutor Lord Greenwood’s new pet Christopher in the pleasure arts, he agrees. And why not? It’s not like there’s much more to do in Arles while the Regent is at war with his nephew and that Akielon brute. He didn't expect to fall in love.</p><p>This is a fandom fusion story - a Pinto story set in the Captive Prince universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Medeafic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medeafic/gifts).



> This is my Nepal Aid fic for medeafic
> 
> AUTHOR'S NOTE #1: This is a Pinto story set in the universe of _Captive Prince_ by C. S. Pacat. It is a universe where sex with and among underage people, slavery, and simulated rape for sport are canon (hence the non-con warning). This story will contain sex between underage participants, eventual (offscreen) sex between an underage person and an adult, as well as reference to such acts in the past. There is also frank discussion of these and related topics, as it is canon-typical. If you find any of these things potentially triggering or objectionable, I do not recommend reading. If you have questions about the content or future direction of the story, please send a note to [my ask box](http://rabidchild67.tumblr.com/ask) on Tumblr.
> 
> NOTE #2: This story takes place sometime in the middle of Book 3 of the CP trilogy and contains spoilers for the first two books. Book 3 is not out yet, so I’m assuming there will be some sort of armed conflict between Laurent and his uncle, but who knows? Since this is a fusion/AU, there are only mentions of characters from Captive Prince in it, but the spirit is there. As well as the florid language \o/

“Hello.”

I looked up into a pair of the bluest eyes I have ever seen—bluer, I will swear, than those of the Crown Prince himself—and was momentarily dazzled. 

“Is that your lyre? Do you play?” he said when my tongue refused to work.

I looked down at the instrument, mindful suddenly of its Akielon origin. “I… I dabble. I prefer the lute over this—the tones are more rounded.”

“The carvings on it are beautiful.” he reached out to touch them with long, graceful fingers. 

I detected a Western accent, or so I thought. I had never seen him before at court, but the paint on his face marked him for what he was. A pet. Like me.

“Thank you. It is not mine.” I don’t know why I lied, but for the fact that it was the way at court.

“You are borrowing it?”

“Aye.”

“You are Zachary, yes? I am called Christopher.”

I looked at him blankly.

“Did Radel not tell you I was to come to you for training?”

“Training at what?”

His face turned the color of lobsters beneath its inexpertly-applied paint. “In the ways of men with their pets. I am… that is, it has not been the custom of my people to own pets or to submit. I am quite new to this… type of arrangement.”

“You’re a virgin?”

He stammered, “I mean, I would not say…” He looked away, the muscles in his throat working as he swallowed. “Yes.”

“Look at you, as if butter would not melt in your mouth. How old are you?”

“Eighteen.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

He stared at his sandals. “Sixteen.”

Only three years younger than me, but I could not recall a time when I was that innocent. “For once, Radel has done his job and sent you to the right place, Christopher. Any of the other pets left at court would have eaten you alive.” I stood. “Come with me.”

“I—I did not think we would start so soon.” He had the look of a spooked hare.

“Don’t worry, your virtue will remain intact for your master.” 

I led him from the gardens and toward the pet quarters, where most of us stayed when we were not required by our masters. The quarters were located in the western wing of the palace, in the area that had been occupied by Crown Prince Laurent until recently. 

Our footsteps echoed off the walls, and we barely encountered anyone as we walked, save for a few servants, who remained as unobtrusive as the furniture. 

With most of the gentry either participating in the war between the Regent and Prince Laurent or hiding in their keeps should the fighting turn in their direction, the palace at Arles was now nearly empty. What courtiers remained were low level functionaries, left behind to keep the country running. My own master, Lord Nimoy, being the most senior Council member remaining, was the nominal head of the government in the absence of the Regent.

“You are from the West, are you not? You have the look.”

“The look?”

I appraised him once more: tall, perhaps an inch shorter than me, the golden hair on his head in evidence—though sparsely—all over the parts of his body his modest attire revealed. His skin remained burnished from the sun, a hallmark of a life spent near the sea. “Your people are sea merchants?” I guessed. 

Christopher smiled, as if from a fond memory. “Yes, my father's a sea captain in the merchant service.” He frowned, prettily. “Or at least he was before his ship was damaged in a storm. He was beholden for its cargo, and he had to give up the ship to pay for it all.”

“That is unfortunate.”

“It is why I'm here. The price Lord Greenwood offered for my contract was enough to keep my father’s household going for more than a year. By then, he should be able to earn enough to regain his solvency. Perhaps he could buy out my contract.”

“Is that what you think?” Christopher nodded. “And what if Lord Greenwood does not wish to part with your sweet,” I indicated his buttocks, which were very fine indeed, “fundament? What then?”

He colored and the discomfort returned to his eyes. Something about his manner made me wish to comfort him. 

“Or perhaps not,” I hurriedly added. “I have heard that Lord Greenwood is a kind man. Tell me how did you meet him?”

“I was working on the docks to earn a few coppers, helping the fishermen unload their catch.”

“And how is that done?

“It is physically taxing work, but honest.”

“I have no doubt. And how is one clothed whilst performing it?”

“The men wear naught but their underthings, or nothing at all. It is dirty work, and smelly. One does not wish to have one’s clothes reek of fish, you see?”

“I am putting together a mental picture, thank you. So Lord Greenwood spotted you lifting great crates of bream and fell before you on sight?”

“It was tuna, actually. And he called me to him. He gave me a gold coin and asked where my parents lived.”

“He dealt with your parents, then?”

“Is that not the law of the land?”

“It is.” I laid a calming hand on his shoulder, feeling the hard muscle beneath. Lord Greenwood had a good eye. 

“Ah,” I said because I needed to do something. “We have arrived.”

This wing of the palace reflected the opulence appropriate to a person as important as its former occupant. Even the door was ornately carved, in the intricate style favored by Veretian artisans. My own people were such tradesmen, carving beautiful objects from the hardwoods native to the forests of northeastern Vere, along the Vaskian border. Sometimes I recalled the bucolic simplicity of those days, of times spent hewing and lashing together the great planks of wood, mixing the varnish with my brother, being taught by my uncle in the days after my father died. And then I would come to my senses.

Despite their comforts, I did not care for these quarters as much as the old, for the simple fact I disliked the disrespect conveyed by housing pets in a formerly royal residence. The Regent had wanted to send a message, we pets had been the unlikely beneficiaries of it. Anton thought it the height of hilarity and openly derided Prince Laurent, but I saw it for the goad it was meant to be. I did not approve, but I knew enough to keep my own counsel. 

I showed Christopher around the wing, which he said he had not yet had the opportunity to explore upon his arrival earlier in the day. He’d apparently been assigned a room across from my own that was currently vacant, and then taken by Radel to the spot in the gardens where I had been practicing the lyre. If Christopher had any belongings, they had not yet been brought here. 

Our tour ended in the large common area that had previously been Prince Laurent’s personal apartments. It had been remade to resemble an eastern harem, with pillows and cushions and delicate silken curtains masking the blue and gold decorations, which they did unsuccessfully. I much preferred the original furnishings, but then I considered myself more loyal to our Prince than his uncle. 

The servants were just laying out the midday meal when we arrived, and like exotic jungle beasts drawn to a watering hole, the pets appeared to dine. 

Most of them, of course, could not simply avail themselves of the bounty and have done. No, first they must bemoan their piteous states as well as the quality of the food. 

_“Oh look at this sad peach, it is barely ripe enough.”_

_“Is this what qualifies as bread now? Oh when will these days of privation cease?”_

The loudest among them was, as usual, Anton, Lord Pegg's pet. He stood with a hip jutting out, robes parted just so to reveal an expanse of creamy skin. His fair curls shone in the bright sunlight streaming in through the open doors that led to the arcade outside. He wore no paint today, I noticed; if anything it only accentuated his youth and fey beauty. 

“Are we to have but two types of sweets to choose again?” he complained, stamping a silk-slippered foot. “They are always the same!”

“Oh what a horror, however will you persevere?” Zoë, Lady Alice's pet, said sarcastically as she helped herself to bread and cheese and fruit. “Though maybe you _are_ persevering, a little too well, eh?” she added, patting Anton on his stomach. 

“I am not fat!” he screeched indignantly. 

Her only answer was to raise a delicate eyebrow and look at him over the length of her nose. 

“And who have we here?” she asked, turning her attention to Christopher, who stood gaping beside me. 

“This is Christopher, Lord Greenwood’s pet, newly arrived from Ste. Monique. Be kind,” I said to her in a low voice as she got closer. 

Her large brown eyes turned kind for a moment and she smiled at my young charge. He had the same manner about him that I'd noted earlier, that of a startled rabbit, one who might drop dead of fright at any moment. “Welcome to Arles, young Christopher. Zachary will look after you, have no fear. And the rest of these—“ she indicated the small group of pets who had finally lowered themselves to dine, picking over the food for the choicest tidbits to pile upon their golden plates, “do not present your back to them lest you find a bejeweled dagger between your broad shoulders.” 

“I will not,” he promised, his blue eyes gone even wider. 

She smiled and left, on her way to her quarters where she took all her meals. 

“Zoë is a good ally,” I remarked, aiming to reassure.

“Ally?” Christopher asked. “Have you not made friends here?” 

“Friendships do not last,” I informed him. “Shall we eat?” 

\----

“Are you sure you have enough?” I asked Christopher as, plates in hand, we took seats on one of the carved benches along the balustrade. He had piled his plate with it meat and fruit, I noted.

“Aye, for now, but are there no fresh vegetables to be had? All I saw were swimming in sauce.” His brows drew together in his consternation, causing a not unattractive screwing up of the skin of his nose. 

“It is not the practice of the palace kitchen staff to prepare them any other way.” 

“Have they never heard of a salad?” he said, more to himself than to me. 

“Apparently not.”

“We ate them a lot at home, but then the climate by the sea is more conducive to the growing of fresh produce. There are vast farms in the valleys near home.”

“Is it a beautiful place?”

His face lit up. “Oh yes! It is sunny almost all the time and the people are most fair.” I raised an eyebrow. “Not that they are not here, of course,” he hastened to clarify, “but there is a lack of pretense in the people. Not that the people in Arles are pretentious! I don't mean that. There is a level of sophistication here is all. I mean—“

He spluttered on for a few seconds more before I took pity. “I understand what you mean. The people in the provinces lack the artifice of those in the cities.” 

“Yes,” he agreed, and appeared relieved I had not been offended. How could I be? He was the most unspoiled, guileless person I had ever met, and I regretted already what this place would do to crush such an open and giving spirit. 

We ate in contented silence for some minutes, until I became aware of a shadow above us. 

“Anton,” I said, looking up. “Are all the sweets gone? I'm afraid I've none to share.”

He made a face at me, narrowing his eyes as he looked Christopher up and down haughtily. “Who are you?” he asked rudely. 

“I am called Christopher. I am pleased to meet you,” was the smiling reply.

“He really means to ask, ‘Whose pet are you,’” I explained. “He wants to know whether his own master outranks yours, so that he might lord it over you.”

“Oh. I am Lord Greenwood’s pet.”

Anton looked disappointed; Lord Greenwood was high ranking indeed, related by marriage to the Crown Prince's mother. His holdings in the west of the country were vast and rich. Anton’s master, by contrast, was something of a professional courtier, with many friends but little wealth. 

“Still, at least my master didn't pick me out of a fishing scow.” He fluttered a delicate handkerchief in from of his face, as if staving off a bad smell. “I shall have to remember to remain downwind.”

Rather than rising to the obvious bait, I was pleased to see Christopher had his wits about him. 

“I am perhaps a bit rough around the edges, ‘tis true,” he said, “not having had the finer skills taught to me as no doubt you have had. Perhaps you will teach me?”

Anton looked flattered for a moment. 

“That is, if you can manage to maneuver your great girth about. I wouldn't want you to strain something.” 

Anton spluttered indignantly and stalked away down the colonnade and back inside. 

“I see the guppy has turned out to be a shark in disguise,” I said, allowing my amusement to show. 

“I am not wholly defenseless,” Christopher informed me. “I had two years of instruction at the University at Bourçlet before my father's misfortunes forced me to return home.”

I nodded, impressed. So the boy had some intelligence, then, if he had been admitted to such a prestigious place of higher learning. This was going to be more interesting than I'd initially thought. Still, I informed him, “I do think some remedial instruction in basic grooming rituals will do you good.” 

He looked crestfallen and I hastened to clarify, “It is not that you do not have the rudiments down, but half of the duty of a pet is to reflect well on his master. You have natural—“ he licked his ample lips, causing me distraction, “charms. Allow me to show you how best to highlight them, yes?”

He nodded and smiled, the first genuine smile thus far, and the expression transformed a comely face into one of the most beautiful I had yet seen. 

Yes, the Lord Greenwood had chosen well. 

\----

“First things first,” Zoë said, crossing slender yet toned arms over her beautiful bosom, “let's get you bathed first. I want to start with a blank canvas.”

We had decamped to the baths, and I had secured Zoë's agreement to advise on some of Christopher's sartorial and cosmetic needs. She had a good eye and her plain manner would make things go faster. I, on the other hand, favored a more indirect and subtle communication style, and feared I would not help matters as much as hinder them. 

Christopher balked at the experience of allowing servants to undress him. “I can bathe myself!” he protested. 

“Yes, but why would you want to?” Zoë asked. “They are servants, allow them to do their jobs.” 

Christopher withstood it, but barely, and as his loincloth was removed, a blush suffused nearly his entire body. “I am not used to being thus exposed in front of, of _ladies_ ,” he said in a small and forlorn voice. He covered his groin with both hands, and hunched forward self-protectively. 

I stepped in, sending the servants, all of them female, away. “I will do it, shall I?” I said soothingly. 

“I don't know why anyone must,” he insisted, looking miserable.

“They must because they must,” Zoë said plainly but kindly. “It is how things are, Christopher, and you must become accustomed to people looking at you. Your whole life’s purpose now is to be an adornment. You will have to get used to it.”

“Must I do it today?” he asked, his eyes fixed on the floor. 

I reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Perhaps not all at once.” I turned to Zoë and pointed my chin toward the entrance. “Perhaps for today it will be just you and I, hmm?” I asked the question more of Zoë than of him, but they both nodded and she turned to go. 

“I will meet you both in the shops shall I?” she said as she took her leave. 

“There, we are alone,” I said to him. He relaxed, marginally. I handed him a small pot of soap and a cloth. “You can wash yourself, but I want to see your method. You must be perfectly clean for your master at all times, and give him no reason to fault you.”

I had personally witnessed a fair few pets dismissed for no reason other than personal hygiene. There was really no excuse for it, when the number of opportunities offered to pets to maintain it were considered. We had our own private bathing area, fed by the hot springs that ran under the palace, as well as servants to tend to our needs. Soaps, oils, and unguents were provided, as well as a variety of paint and cosmetics to enhance natural beauty. Clothes were normally provided as gifts by one’s master, and the palace haberdashers were the finest in all Vere. That would be our next stop after the baths.

“Oh. Oh, no. No,” I said as something caught my attention. Christopher had been standing waist-deep in the bathing pool as he washed himself, but had wandered toward the edge when he got to his intimate areas. It was this I was remarking on. 

“What?” Christopher asked, looking panicked.

“Your cods look as if they’ve been swallowed by a badger. Have you never been taught to groom yourself?”

He looked bewildered. “Why would I --?”

“Why do we do anything? To appear more pleasing to our masters. Come.”

He waded out of the pool reluctantly and I gestured with my hand. “Turn.” He spun slowly in place. “Now bend over and show me your arse.” Thankfully, the worst of it was between his legs, and he would require no hair removal on his back. “We will visit the palace barber as soon as we can, but there is nothing we can do now.”

He stood upright again, looking chagrined. “I do not want to be displeasing to Lord Greenwood,” he said, eyes wide with concern.

Looking at him, my heart cracked a little, and I eased my manner. “I am sorry if I embarrassed you. My only thought is of your success as a pet.”

“How did you learn all of these things? You can’t be that much older than me.”

I handed him a soft towel to dry himself. “I was brought up to do it.”

“How is one brought up for this?”

“My father died when I was very young and I, being a second son, had few prospects. My mother had been a pet in her younger years, and saw in me a bright and intelligent nature. So she began to instruct me from the age of five.” I beckoned him to join me at the nearby stand where the servants had left their basket of bathing supplies. 

“What did she teach you?” Christopher asked. 

“Many things,” I said, looking down into the basket. “Such as which fragrant oils will inflame a man’s desires, and which will calm them.” I chose one. “This one is scented with rosemary, I think its piney aroma will suit you.” I handed it to him; his hand, larger than mine, was also rougher, no doubt from the physical labor he had become used to on the docks. I noted a callus on the second finger of his right hand. 

He took the vial from me and held it cupped in his palm. “What do I do with it?” 

“If you rub it into your skin after bathing, it will soften your skin and make it suppler. More receptive to touching.” 

“I have never heard of such a thing,” he said, curiosity obviously taking hold. He opened the vial and sniffed it. “It smells nice.” 

“If the servants had remained, they would now be anointing your body with it and rubbing it into your muscles while they are warm from the bath. As they are not here, you can do it yourself. Do not use too much,” I warned as he poured a measure of it into his palm, “a little goes a long way.” 

He rubbed the oil onto his chest and his arms, and it lent his skin a subtle glow. “I can’t really reach my back,” he said after a time. 

I sighed and went to him, unlacing the cuffs of my doublet and pushing the sleeves up my forearms. The oil warmed to my hands quickly, and I bade him turn around so I might apply it. Despite his youth, his shoulders were well-formed and his torso more muscled than I would have expected. I rubbed the oil in, keeping my touch light, and he leaned into my hands like a pleased cat. As I ran my hands down his ribs, he twitched away violently. 

“I’m ticklish,” he explained, half turning to me. His smile was infectious. 

“Yes, I see that.” I did it again. 

He pulled away but not as far this time. “Now you’re doing it on purpose,” he laughed. His buttocks jiggled as his body shook with mirth.

“Yes. Well. Now you are done,” I said, stepping away and reaching for a cloth to wipe my hand. I handed him a robe. “Let us not keep Zoë waiting.”

\----

The wardrobe masters at Arles were the most celebrated in all Vere, and that was our next stop. Our arrival was a welcomed one—with so many of the gentry out at war, business was sparse, and the prospect of a paying customer was not one to be passed up. The fact Christopher was Lord Greenwood’s new pet afforded him extra special attention. The man was well-known to be a connoisseur of good taste, and the shop’s staff were eager to please.

Since she had preceded us, Zoë had already chosen a few things for Christopher to try on. I sent him off with the clothier’s assistant, so that he might be dressed more quickly. Despite the current political crisis, it was the current Veretian fashion to emulate the dress of Crown Prince Laurent; the fussy lacings he preferred could take some time to do up, and for someone provincial like young Christopher, he would need all the help he could get. I sometimes longed for a simpler mode of dress, but the Prince’s role as taste maker was well-earned. The clothes, though they appeared severe, only served to accentuate all the right assets, at least to my eye.

At long last, Christopher emerged from the dressing room clad in a pale blue doublet of velvet, with embroidered embellishments so exquisite I felt a pang of jealousy. The tight lacings served to subtly correct any imperfections in his posture, making already broad shoulders more pronounced. He seemed taller than I had originally thought, too. 

“What do you think?” Zoë asked, rising from the couch we were seated on to stand behind Christopher in the large, full-length looking glass. 

“The trousers are a little too snug across my buttocks,” he replied with a frown. “How am I to move?”

“I wasn’t talking to you,” she said, meeting my eye in the mirror. 

I rose from my languorous pose and made my way over. I ran my hands over his shoulders and down his ribs to test the fit; he flinched but there was no laughter this time. “They are perfect. What do you say, Zoë? If his hair was lighter, he could pass for the Prince from a distance,” I said approvingly.

“Oh, I hope not,” Christopher said. “I would not want to draw the Regent’s ire.”

“He’s too much ire for his nephew to spare you any,” Zoë told him. “And you should be flattered to draw such a comparison.”

Christopher lowered his voice. “I do not see why. Has Laurent not been declared a traitor? Isn’t that why we are in the midst of this war?”

“Or is the Prince merely trying to wrest back from his uncle that which is rightfully his?” I interjected.

“Don’t let anyone hear you say that,” Zoë said to me, her eyes scanning the room; luckily the shop owner had gone to the back to search for his measuring implements.

“The law of the land is clear, and the Prince has broken it,” Christopher pointed out.

“I think you will find, young one, that there is always more than one side to a story,” Zoë said quietly.

“What other side could there be?”

She and I shared a glance. The tales told in hushed tones by candlelight in the pets’ quarters of the Regent’s sometime affinity for his nephew were not appropriate. Now was not the time to trade in that kind of gossip. 

“Many. And who is to say which is right? There is one thing I shall do, and that is take Zoë’s advice. These days it is prudent to keep one’s opinions on Prince Laurent to oneself,” I said definitively, ending the conversation. I turned to the clothier, who had just entered the room. “We’ll take the doublet in indigo and silver as well. And five pairs of those trousers.”

“Very good, sir,” the man said, making a note in his ledger. 

“What have you got by way of riding leathers?” Zoë asked him.

“Oh yes, you’ll need that if there is ever a hunt again,” I agreed. “How I miss our old sorties to Chastillon.”

“I’ve never been on a hunt,” Christopher said. “I wouldn’t know what to do.”

I waved my hand, dismissing his concerns. “Neither do I, but it does not mean you will not be called to play the part.” I turned my attention back to the shop owner. “What colors do you have?”

Christopher was ushered out in the company of the shop’s tailor, and Zoë and I availed ourselves of the wine and sweetmeats the staff brought out.

“You need to learn to keep your own counsel,” Zoë reprimanded, pouring out the wine.

I shrugged. “What was I to do, let him go on thinking things that were untrue? Lord Greenwood is the Prince’s uncle by marriage. If the boy were to espouse the wrong opinion, he’d be tossed aside like a soiled handkerchief.”

“There are times and places, and well you know it. You barely know this Christopher, or who he may ally himself with, or for that matter how the war will play out. The last thing you need is to find yourself on the wrong side of a succession crisis.”

“Me? I’m a pet, and my opinion is less than worthless to them. The only things they want to hear from my mouth are flattery and gagging noises when the time is right.”

She gave me a disgusted look; even I would allow I had pushed the metaphor too far. “That’s just it, my dearest friend, do you see? If you keep on like you are going, the last thing they hear from your mouth will be a gagging noise—when they hang you for a traitor!”

I cast my eyes down; she was right and we both knew it. I had allowed my frustrations with the current political climate to get the better of me. I reached for her hand and squeezed it to communicate my gratitude, resolving to keep my opinions to myself. 

“Ah yes, the riding leathers,” Zoë said, dropping her hand and turning toward Christopher as he re-entered the room. 

“I don’t know about this,” he said uncertainly. They had outfitted him in a doublet of green leather that was even more form-fitting than the velvet had been, decorated with strips of fox fur. The sleeves were also lined with fox fur, as was the collar. It was very fashionable, and I told him so. 

“Don’t you think the boots are excessive?” Christopher said. They were undyed calfskin and reached up over his knee to mid-thigh. The leather was so fine the flexing of his thigh muscles could be discerned through it. His calves were slender but shapely, and I found myself distracted for a moment.

“I wouldn’t say so,” Zoë said. 

“I’m awfully hot.”

I waited a beat before responding, “You won’t be in winter,” and rising to evaluate the fit. The doublet was a bit snug, even to my eye, and I instructed the shop owner to let it out half an inch. 

“Only half an inch? I can barely breathe as it is!”

“He is likely to fill out some still, Zachary,” Zoë pointed out.

I rolled my eyes and gave in. “Very well. Now, let us discuss sleeping attire.”

\----

It was late by the time we returned to the pets’ quarters; Zoë had been called to her mistress’s side earlier, so it was just Christopher and I when we left the shop. Dinner had already come and gone, so I sent a servant to fetch bread and meats from the kitchen—as well as whatever fresh vegetables he could find. When it was brought, I directed the servants to Christopher’s room. 

When I entered, he was seated upon the bed. About him had been strewn a small number of personal belongings, clothes mostly, of a good quality and simple design, a few small books and parchments; a small trunk lay open on the floor. On the bed beside him, a small lacquered box sat, unopened and ignored. In his hands he held a scrap of vellum that he stared at, almost not noticing when I entered the room.

“If you can believe it, I was able to find you some raw radishes,” I said, motioning for the servants to set the tray on the small table in the corner. They did so quickly and left.

“Oh?” Christopher asked. He looked in my direction, uttered a half-hearted, “Thank you, Zachary,” and went back to staring at the parchment. 

“What have you there?” I asked with forced cheer. His distress was apparent in every way—his manner, his posture, on his face.

“This? It is a sketch I made. Of my sister.”

Curious, I moved to sit beside him on the edge of the bed. He held the scrap out to me willingly. Whether it was a good likeness I could not say, but it was a very lifelike drawing of a young woman with mischievous eyes and a pleasant smile. Her hair was bound up in the manner of married women in the provinces. It was very well done, and demonstrated a hidden talent. 

“She's very pretty,” I said because it was true. She was just like her brother. 

He smiled gratefully. “She is expecting her first child in two months' time. I will miss it.”

“You may be glad of that. I am given to understand it is very unpleasant.”

He laughed, which was my intended outcome. Seeing him saddened distressed me, in a way I could not comprehend. “It is very good work.” 

“I drew her from memory on the trip inland. It could be boring during the long nights.” 

“Have you had instruction? You have more than a little talent.”

His cheeks pinked charmingly. “No. They say I inherited the talent from my grandmother, who was a painter. But I want to be a writer. I was being trained as a scribe at the university. Before—” He sighed. 

“Before the change in your father's fortune?”

“Yes. I was glad to return home, to help out.” He straightened his spine and his voice got a little stronger. “I am glad to know that the price of my contract is helping my family so much.”

“Yes. Well.” I rested a hand on his knee. His was unfortunately not the first story of such themes I had heard. “It is all right to be nervous. This all must be strange to you.”

“Just think—one week ago I was helping my mother tend her gardens, and now I am living in a palace!”

If he could put it so simply, I was not going to remind him of his true purpose. “And look, they have managed to deliver your belongings,” I observed. “Some little reminders of home to provide comfort. What is that?” I indicated the lacquer box. 

“I do not know. It was waiting for me along with my trunk.”

“Perhaps it is a gift from Lord Greenwood.”

“I can't think why. I have done nothing to deserve one.”

“Is that not the nature of gifts? To please and to show appreciation?”

Christopher turned the box over in his hands. Its top had been painted to illustrate a knight slaying a great dragon. It was all very overdone and suited to pleasing an imaginative young man. Christopher ran his fingertips over it for a moment, admiring, before opening it. Inside, it was lined in fine silk, and held a small satin pouch. When he lifted it, it had some heft, so I guessed it was jewelry. 

“Oh my!” he breathed when he drew the object from its wrappings. It was a long gold chain, its links finely wrought. Accompanying it was a small golden charm: a small padlock. Christopher found it amusing. “But there is no clasp for the chain?” he remarked. 

“That is because it is meant to be threaded around your neck thus.” I held my hand out for it and demonstrated, attaching the lock onto one end and threading the other end through the loop of it creating, forming a loose circle I draped around his neck. The lock rested just in the hollow of his throat, the long end of the chain extended below his pectorals. I noted the lock had been engraved with a “B” and a “G,” the Lord Greenwood's initials I surmised. There was no key or keyhole, but the symbolism was clear. 

“This must have cost a lot of money,” Christopher said. 

“Probably.” 

“He is very kind to give me such an expensive gift!” 

“Do not worry, I expect you will be able to demonstrate your gratitude to him soon.”

“Ah. Right. Of course,” he said in a quiet voice and looked away. “Shall we dine?”

As we ate, I asked him to tell me about his home and family, as it seemed to comfort him. I learned his father was a kind and a fair man, whose regard for the safety of his men had been the cause of his own ruination. In stormy seas he had had a choice of saving lives or saving his cargo and had opted for the former, resulting in the loss of his ship and his livelihood. I learned Christopher's older sister Katherine had a keen wit, and would keep her younger brother entertained for hours with stories about history and philosophy. And I learned he preferred to be called 'Chris' by his friends.

“You may call me Chris,” he said. “Even if people don't make friends here, it'd be nice to pretend anyway.” 

My eyes softened. “That was more a cautionary statement than anything,” I explained. “There are those who would pretend to cultivate your friendship, but their motives are not friendly. They would use your confidences against you for personal gain or to use you for sport. No motive is too base. They are not to be trusted.”

“You mean Anton.”

“And others like him. There was once a pet. His name was Nicaise. He was beautiful—almost as beautiful as you, but he cultivated the wrong friendships and paid the ultimate price for it.” 

“Was his contract ended?” 

“It was. Permanently. He is dead.” 

“Oh.” 

“So it is not without a full measure caution that I counsel you to be wary and keep your wits about you. You are fortunate you have me as a tutor and Zoë to help as well. We have been at this a long time and we will help you to acclimate.” 

“Thank you. I appreciate that you are looking out for me and I will endeavor to honor your tutelage.” 

_Just stay alive,_ I thought to myself and poured us each more wine.

\----

I left an hour later. It was clear to me Chris discomfited sleeping in his new rooms and I plied him with another goblet of wine until he became sleepy and drifted off. I had only just changed for bed when a servant appeared at my doorway. 

“Lord Nimoy has requested you wait upon him,” he said. 

I suppressed a sigh and looked down at the plain sleeping attire I had on. “Well, this will never do.”

I changed into a pair of sleeping pants of a lightweight sindon, sheer black, with a matching robe embroidered with trailing ivy sewn with the finest silk thread. I did not bother to paint my face as there would be no time. When my master called for me, he preferred me to come immediately.

I pushed my feet into a pair of velvet slippers and returned to the door where the servant had remained. It was not seemly for a pet to roam the halls of the palace unchaperoned. “Let us not keep him waiting,” I said, and followed the man out of the pet quarters. 

Lord Nimoy, my master, was a high-ranking member of the High Council and, since most of them were gone due to the war, had virtually been running the Veretian government himself in their absence. It was a duty he did not take lightly. Since my Lord's holdings were the far off island of Belle Aire, they were not threatened by the war. His concerns could therefore remain firmly where they belonged: with the smooth running of the bureaucracy. 

His rooms were located in a far flung tower of the palace, up a long flight of stairs that taxed even my youthful energy. I often wondered how his old joints could withstand the punishment, nevertheless he liked it here. I suspected he preferred the privacy it afforded; no one could climb up here without being heard, and who would want to spy on an old man? 

I sent the servant to fetch water and wine and knocked before entering. 

“Ah my boy,” Lord Nimoy said upon seeing me. As usual, he sat at the heavy table in his study, back straight as he worked. The table was strewn with parchments and scrolls. His fingers were stained with ink, and there was a smudge of it on the tip of his nose as well, where he had held the parchment too close to read it. “It is pleasing to see you.” 

I smiled and went to him, taking up a cloth and rubbing the ink from his face. I sat upon his lap and kissed the nose, now reddened from my efforts. “I too am pleased to see you,” I replied. “It is late, why don't you give these things to me?” I began to gather up the scrolls. “You should get some rest.”

He batted at my hands to get me to stop, so I rose and danced around to the other side of the table, out of reach. I continued with what I was doing. 

“You know I don’t want you doing that,” he said. “Let the servants.” 

“And you know I do not mind,” I reminded him. It pleased me to do things for him. 

Presently the servant returned and set the wine down on the sideboard. I went to pour Lord Nimoy a goblet. “Here this will relax you,” I said

“I would prefer warm milk,” he said. 

“Shall I call the servant back?”

“No, no. Just water then please, Zachary.” 

I poured a goblet of water and kept the wine for myself. “How go the affairs of state?” I asked, seating myself opposite him, my foot resting on the edge of the chair. 

He glanced at my tackle and shook his head. I lowered my leg and sat more modestly, my hands cradling the goblet so as to obscure the view. 

“Why do you dress like that? You know I do not require you to.”

“One must keep up appearances,” I replied. “What will they say if they learn you only keep me around to actually warm your bed and nothing more?”

He rolled his eyes. “They will see I am an old man whose blood has thinned. Besides, _they_ have more present concerns, such as pretending to prepare their forces for war whilst delaying long enough to hope the conflict ends before they must commit to one side or the other.” 

“There are still eyes everywhere,” I said, and he knew I was right. Lord Nimoy had been my master for more than three years, and we were both veterans of such intrigues in our own rights. 

“Tell me of your day,” he said, changing the subject. He took a sip of water from the goblet, watching me over its rim. 

“I have been given an assignment. Lord Greenwood has acquired a new pet and Radel sent him to me for tutelage.” 

“Has he?”

I gave him a sideways glance. Of course he already knew. “A lad from the Western shore, broad of shoulder and fair of face, with eyes like the sea. If the court were full he would be a very big distraction.”

“He is untrained then?”

“Lord Greenwood discovered him slinging the day's catch on the docks at Ste Monique, if you can believe it.”

“I have heard more remarkable things i my life,” Lord Nimoy said, though I could tell the story amused him. 

“He is a pretty thing, sweet and loyal and naive and those sharks are going to make a meal of him,” I said, referring to my fellow pets. 

“He has you to protect and to instruct.”

“Aye, but am I the best one for it?”

“You are the only one for it,” he said. “Just think what value insight into Lord Greenwood's thoughts may have.” 

I cocked my head and looked at him and knew immediately it was he who had arranged for Christopher to be brought to me. “What do you need me to do?” I asked at length.

He shrugged. “Be kind. Teach him well the pleasure arts. One as sweet and innocent can only instill trust in others. We may one day soon use that to our advantage.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris can be full of surprises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: there is sex between two teenagers

I rose early the next morning, saw to the arrangements for my Lord’s breakfast, and arrived to the pets’ quarters before any of them. As had been my own experience the night before, many of them had been called-for by their masters and had not yet returned. 

I called for a servant and went to the baths. I preferred to visit them early in the morning, when they were unoccupied. The quiet suited me, the lapping of the hot spring’s waters against the edge of the pool was soothing. The servants were efficient when allowed to do their jobs, and I stood knee-deep in the pool and thought through a plan for the day.

Christopher was going to be an interesting assignment. It was not unprecedented that a pet should take a novice under his or her wing. While I had known from an early age what I had been destined for and been trained accordingly, my own experience as a pet was becoming less typical in recent years. It had become fashionable among the aristocracy to cull youths from within their own duchies, a further extension of their egos to display the beauty of their homelands. A natural byproduct of this had therefore become the tendency of towns and villages to put as many of their prettiest and most talented young people in the gentry’s path as possible. As a result, a cottage industry of fairs and festivals had grown up, honoring local saints and war heroes of dubious provenance. 

My own mother, being knowledgeable about such things, had dealt through a broker, one Mr. Weller, who had secured a much higher price for my contract than would have been paid on the open market. I lived at the home of my first master, Lord Cumberbatch, for the first six months, until he was called to court to serve as special advisor to the Regent’s Privy Council. When I arrived at court, just turned 15 and thinking I had been well-trained, I found the intrigues and machinations to be daunting. If Zoë had not taken notice and schooled me on the finer nuances of court life, who knows what might have befallen me. I had difficulties enough keeping up with the whims of Lord Cumberbatch, who could be mercurial at the best of times, pernicious at worst. 

So it was with a desire to repay the kindness I’d been shown that I happily took on the assignment of assisting young Christopher. That he somehow factored into Lord Nimoy’s plans ought to have occurred to me earlier. At any rate, it mattered not to me; the lack of diversion in the palace of late, combined with the emotional stresses placed upon a people at war, had imbued in me a tendency toward indolence that could not be entirely healthy. My assignment also gave me a feeling of being useful, one I liked well.

As one servant dried me and another approached with baskets filled with cosmetics, I knew what the next stage of Christopher’s instruction would be. I ordered it brought to my rooms, as well as breakfast for two, donned my robe, and left for the pet quarters.

\----

“It is satisfying to see you are no layabout,” I commented as soon as I entered Christopher’s rooms.

He looked up from the floor, where he had been lying prone, hands flat and pushing against the floor repeatedly. This made the muscles in his back and shoulders bunch and flex ostentatiously, and his skin shone with a thin sheen of perspiration. He smiled at me, blue eyes merry, and unconcerned by his nakedness as he hastily got to his feet. 

“My mother taught me the importance of staying fit. It aids the digestion.”

“Among other things,” I said, grateful for the loose-fitting robe I wore. 

I handed him a cloth and he dabbed at his face and throat. I noticed he still wore Lord Greenwood’s golden chain; the lock on it stuck to the damp skin, so that it hung unevenly. “I have ordered us breakfast,” I said, even as two servants arrived with a tray. I beckoned them to set it up in Christopher’s rooms.

Christopher’s smile widened and he reached for a nearby robe; I noticed it was one of those we’d picked out the day before, a fine silk, nearly sheer, and soft to the touch. “That’s great, I’m starving.”

He strode over to the table and chose a bunch of grapes, eating them even before sitting down; he then helped himself to a bowl of warm muesli and a large goblet of milk. Once seated, I chose a soft-boiled duck’s egg, a favorite, which I dipped toast points into. 

“Christopher—“

“Chris,” he interrupted. I raised my eyebrows, surprised at the interruption. “I want you to call me Chris,” he reminded me. “Only my grandmother calls me Christopher, Zach.”

“Zach?”

“I may call you that, yes? It’s so much less formal than ‘Zachary.’ More friendly.”

I would have taken him to task for his impertinence, but his smile was too distracting. “Yes. Well. I thought we would continue your training today by teaching you how to apply face paint. I know you are aware of its importance, but I am afraid you have not learned the finer nuances.” 

He frowned. “I don’t understand all the brushes and things.”

“It is easy to misapply the cosmetics with too heavy a hand,” I commiserated. “The servants will bring them in a little while, and I can show you some tips of the trade.” He looked unconvinced. “Trust me, it is not so difficult when you are shown how.”

He appeared to be coming around, though he had no other opportunity to respond, as at that moment a servant appeared. He bore the balance of the clothing we had purchased the day before, those that had required alterations. I assisted Christopher with stowing them properly in his cabinets and wardrobes.

“That is a lot of clothes. When will I wear them all?” he mused.

“How long is the term of your contract?” 

“An excellent point. I imagine I will have plenty of time. But, oh—“ he paused, his fingertips petting at the fox fur trim on the new riding leathers. 

“I see Lord Greenwood’s coin is still very much welcome in Arles,” I said, impressed that the leathers were already delivered.

“Was there a time when it wasn’t?”

“No,” I said, hastening to correct my mistake. In truth, there had been some a falling out between Lord Greenwood and the Queen, his sister, shortly after the King’s death. Speculation about it was still a matter of closed-door gossip, but it was nothing anyone spoke of openly. I did not want Christopher to unwittingly get himself in trouble by saying something untoward. “It is just that he has been away for so long.”

Chris nodded.

“Did you want to go for a ride? The day is likely to be a hot one, but if we hurry, we may still enjoy the coolness of the morning.”

“I would like that very much.”

“And I am very happy to provide tutelage should you require it. I am not much for sport riding, but I am told I hold an attractive seat.” Christopher glanced at my backside and I raised my eyebrows. “Saucy.”

“Yes.”

“I will make the arrangements and meet you in the stables in an hour, then.”

He beamed at me happily as I left, and I tried not to make comparisons to the sun.

\----

I was a few minutes late arriving to the stables, but nevertheless I expected to precede Christopher—correction: Chris—in my arrival. Veretian court fashion being what it was, not to mention the stiffness of new leathers, he was probably still in his room, trying to work out the laces on his boots. 

As I walked down the path between two of the stables, I noted a minor commotion in a nearby paddock typically used for training. When I got closer, I could see why: Chris, clad in little more than his undershirt and a pair of cotton breeches, was riding around the paddock’s perimeter atop a horse—bareback! 

I recognized the horse, a bay and white piebald stallion. He was notoriously ill-tempered and had thrown more than his fair share of riders, including Prince Laurent himself. He did not seem to mind Chris. Indeed, the horse seemed very much to respond to its rider as if they had known each other for years. 

Clearly others shared in my amazement. I went to stand beside Roberto, the chief groom, where he stood nearby with his stable boys. “Is that really Firebrand? What does he think he’s playing at?” I asked, all concern. 

The paddock was a large one, one typically used to train riders for jumping. We watched in amazement as Chris took the horse through its paces, making a full circuit of the perimeter at a canter before doubling back to run the jumping course. Despite the lack of proper gear, horse and rider moved as one, the beast reacting to whatever minute direction Chris gave him, whether a pressing of his knees, the leaning of his body, or the firm yet gentle tug on his mane. The performance was breathtaking, on all counts, as a confident rider put a beautiful, powerful steed through its paces.

Roberto spat into the dust and grinned. “’e said ‘e could manage ‘im ‘n who am I to say otherwise?” he said. “So I let ‘im. I figgered ‘e'd fall on is arse soon enough. I tell you I ain't seen nothin’ like it.” 

He and the others gave an impressed whistle as Chris steered his mount toward another jump, the tallest. I myself had seen the horse shy at anything taller than its knees and I may have covered my eyes at one point. But when I did not hear the scream of a horse nor the sound of flesh impacting with hard earth, I looked up to see Chris riding toward us, a grin as wide as the sea on his face. 

He brought the horse to a skidding stop with the slightest yank of its mane, then dismounted before the beast had halted. He landed on light feet without stumbling, then leaned into the horse, who snorted air out of his nostrils but quietened as soon as Chris murmured into his ear. Firebrand shook his head and whickered softly, as one might when a lover has used a favorite endearment. 

“’orse charmer,” Roberto proclaimed, to much solemn agreement among the other grooms and spitting in the dust. Chris handed Firebrand off to one of them and came to stand with me, the fence between us. 

“I see you've warmed up,” I said. 

“A bit,” he said with a wink. 

“So you know how to ride then?”

The twinkle in his eyes could rival the pole star's. “You could say so. My mother's mother is Vaskian. It was very important to her that my mother's children be taught. Even I, a lowly boy child.” 

The horsemanship of the Vaskian tribes, and their warrior women, was legendary even here. “Can you also ride in a saddle,” I asked, “or do you merely use it to vault over the back of the animal? 

He laughed. 

“You like to surprise people,” I noted, only chiding him a little. 

His cheeks colored charmingly and his chest heaved as he caught his breath. His undershirt—made of the finest muslin Lord Greenwood’s coin could procure—had soaked through with his sweat. It had become translucent in places, showing his skin where it clung, his nipples dusky beneath their cotton shroud. I dragged my eyes up to his face.

“People make assumptions about me when they meet me. Boy from the provinces, what can he know other than the times of the tides or when to rotate the crops? It doesn't bother me, I mean it's only natural.” 

I was appropriately chagrined. “But it doesn't necessarily follow that you wouldn’t enjoy helping them adjust their assumptions.” 

“Just so,” he said, spreading his hands. 

I was intrigued. “Then I suppose I have nothing to teach you.” I noted his new leathers hung on a nearby peg. “Except perhaps for how to dress properly for this kind of exercise.” 

He made a face, objecting. “There is nothing proper about those clothes. How will I move in them?”

“I think you will find them supple and responsive. Now, allow one of the grooms to assist you and I will see to a picnic lunch.”

\----

Our ride was bracing and invigorating, though I could not coax Chris into donning the fur-trimmed doublet on so warm a day. When we returned, we visited the baths again, and by later afternoon, he was ready to begin instruction on the application of face paint. 

“Earlier today, I had nothing to teach you,” I said, indicating the array of powders, creams, and demulcents laid out on the table before us. We had taken seats in one of the common areas in the pets’ quarters, in order to take advantage of the lighting. “Now I think I do.” 

Chris regarded the collection with a mixture of fascination and dread. 

“You will need to know how to apply them properly. It is expected that you will be presentable at court functions. Not that there have been that many of late,” I added ruefully

“I suppose there's not much call for it with the fighting in the south.”

“No, not much.” I picked up a pot and removed its cover. Inside was a balm made with bark of white willow and scented with rose oil. It had a very pleasing aroma. “This is meant to soothe and soften the skin,” I explained. I gestured at his face. “It will also alleviate the—spottiness—that is the bane of many a young man's life.” 

He raised a hand to his cheek, where an angry red bump was forcing its way to the surface. “Really?” He looked almost hopeful

I handed him the pot. “Use it twice each day, applied to clean skin. This means you must wash your face regularly.”

“I will,” he promised. He sniffed at the pot's contents and made an appreciative noise, then scooped a measure onto his fingertip. 

“Apply sparingly,” I advised. “A little goes a long way.” 

He nodded and applied the moisturizing agent whilst looking into a mirror I held up for him. When he was done, I took up a brush and began searching through some of the other cosmetics, choosing several small pots containing cosmetic cakes. 

“These powders are tinted to correspond to a variety of skin tones.” I took one of his hands and turned it so that the palm faced up. “We need to find one that matches your own coloring. You see this one?” I smudged a small amount along his wrist, where it shimmered slightly. “It is not quite right. You have more of a pinkish cast to your natural skin tone.” 

“Do I?” he asked. His head was bent forward, watching what I was doing with careful attention. I could feel the warmth of him. 

I chose another pot. “This one may work,” I said, and applied a test amount. “Yes, this is better.” I took a brush made from sable hairs and ran it through the powder, tapping off the excess. I held it up, indicating I would apply it on his face. He leaned in to afford me easier access. His lips were parted, and I could feel his breath on the inside of my wrist. 

“Yes. Well,” I said, sitting back and surveying my handiwork on the left side of his face. “Not a bad match, though you are more tan than you will be after a few weeks spent inside palace walls. Perhaps we will play with another shade tomorrow.”

He took the mirror and held it in front of his face, staring at himself with a frown. “I don't see any difference.”

“I accept the compliment!” I said proudly. When he appeared confused, I explained, “The cosmetic has evened out your coloring and masked any redness. It is very subtle. Now you will apply it to the other side of your face.” 

He looked unconvinced but nevertheless took up the brush obediently and ran it through the powder. It was a bit too much but I did not want to discourage him by being over critical. He applied it over his cheeks and down the bridge of his nose, blending it down over his jaw as I had demonstrated, then looked to me for reaction 

“Not bad,” I pronounced. “Now apply to your forehead.”

He nodded and complied. “Who taught you this?” he asked idly as he worked. 

“My mother. She meant me to be a pet from an early age, as she herself had been as a young woman.” 

“Is it the way in your family?”

I shrugged. “It is not a bad fate for the peculiar second son of a deceased craftsman.”

“I am sorry to hear about your father.”

“He died when I was very young. I barely remember him.” 

“And I don't think you're peculiar.”

“Nor do I,” I said, toying with a small pot of kohl cake and adding a few drops of water to it. “But I think it means I was too intelligent to thrive while being apprenticed to my uncle, the wood carver. My mother wished for my intellect to flourish, and she determined being a pet was the better option.”

“Was it?”

I thought a moment, giving my answer careful consideration. “I have had two masters thus far, and traveled the whole of the country. I have also had the opportunity to explore the vast library here in the palace, which has afforded many diversions.” 

“Pets are allowed in the library?” Chris's face had the manner of a child at the solstice festival. 

“Ordinarily not, but I have always been respectful of the books, so the librarian allows me to visit on off hours.” The fact I could 'suck his brains out through his prick' probably also had something to do with it, but I did not think mentioning it was relevant. 

“Do you think he’d allow me to visit as well? It has been so long since I’ve been able to study a great manuscript.”

“I am sure it can be arranged.”

I chose a small, coarse brush and ran it through the kohl, coating it thoroughly. “Now come here,” I said, beckoning him to move closer as I held up the brush. “This will darken your eyelashes, though it must be carefully applied or it will smudge. Lower your gaze.”

He did as bidden and I applied the cosmetic to both eyes. “Look up at me now,” I commanded. When he turned that azure gaze upon me I nearly dropped the brush in my lap. The dark cosmetic served to enhance his eyes so dramatically, it lent an almost otherworldly cast to his eyes. 

“How does it look?”

“Like the crystal ocean waters at Ios,” I whispered, so captivated I nearly forgot to breathe. 

His eyebrows drew together. “Really?”

I blinked, the spell broken. “Or so I'm told,” I said and cleared my throat. 

I sat back and reached for one final pot. “Use this on your lips,” I said. He took it and opened it. Inside was a clear emollient, scented with chamomile. 

“What is it for?”

“To aid in soothing wind-burned lips. I have noted your tendency to lick them quite often. It is not a habit conducive to the maintenance of soft, inviting lips.” I gestured vaguely at my own mouth.

“No, I suppose not.” He applied a spare amount, the product lending his plush lips an inviting sheen. “How does it look? Did I use too much?”

His mouth reminded me of nothing more than an overripe plum and everything in me longed to take a bite. Overcome, I leaned forward, raised a hand to touch.

“What have we here, a lesson?” said a wholly unwelcome voice.

I looked up with barely concealed contempt. “Hello, Anton. I thought I detected an unpleasantness on the wind, but I attributed it to the changing of the dregs down in the brewery.” 

He gave me a sour look and turned his attention to Chris. “The paint is a vast improvement upon your face,” he said with mock kindness. “I think perhaps doubling the amount would be even better.”

“We don't all of us have the easy facility with paint you have, Anton,” I replied sweetly. “Did your mother the whore teach you? Or is it an in-bred talent, given your ancestry?” 

The look he gave me could have curdled milk. “You know you are wasting your time with shopping trips and cosmetics lessons. The test of a good pet will be in his master's bed and nowhere else. Stop coddling the lad and teach him how to suck a cock if you really want to do him a favor.”

Chris flinched in shock as Anton smirked triumphantly, the expression twisting his pretty mouth unattractively. 

“Do you not have another place to be?” I asked, for the moment at a loss for a cutting rejoinder. Chris’s reddened face betrayed his own thoughts, and I felt a pang of sympathy. I had deliberately avoided the topic of sexual congress in Chris’s presence, hoping to ease him into that aspect of his training in a way that would not cause undue distress. 

“As it happens, I do not,” Anton said, the self-satisfied expression on his face intensifying.

I rose, pulling myself up to my full height and towering over him by a full head. “Then find one,” I said in a low voice.

Anton made a squeaking sound and fled the space. I took a moment to recompose myself and sat down. 

“On many occasions, you will find it necessary to apply more face paint, for a more dramatic effect. I can show you how, shall I?” 

Without awaiting his response, I picked up the kohl pot again, and a small, blunt-ended piece of ivory. Propping the mirror up, I deftly drew a thick line at the edges of my eyes, then found a small pot of silver dust-infused powder, applying a light coating on my eyelids, cheek bones, and forehead. Finally, I found a small ampule of lipstain and applied a small amount to my mouth. I moved quickly and efficiently, having done this so many times in my life I had lost count. When I was done, I turned my face to Chris, who had been staring at me the entire time. 

“There, you see?” 

“I should know how to provide pleasure to a man,” came the distracted reply. 

“There is plenty of time to learn that,” I said, the lie no doubt making itself obvious in my averted eyes. 

“Is it not the primary function of a pet to do so?”

“Yes.”

“Then I must learn it in all haste, otherwise what else am I here for?”

I had no answer, not one I felt comfortable giving him. It was the way of the Veretian people, and had been for as long as anyone could remember. Pets were an accepted aspect of high society, and to become one was often an entree to a better life for youths such as Chris and myself, a way to elevate oneself above one’s social caste. 

He would not have entered into his contract with Lord Greenwood without being fully cognizant of what he would be required to do. He was already of an age when it was legal for him to have signed the contract for himself. 

Yet something within me balked at the idea of this naïf submitting himself to it. 

It was an impulse I swiftly quashed, for it was fruitless. For Chris to refuse to honor the terms of his contract would consign him to a far worse fate than the one he left, and likely render his family completely destitute. They would be required to refund his contract price in addition to a heavy punitive fee for having squandered the Lord’s time and kindness. 

“What else indeed?” I concluded. “We will begin after the evening meal.”

\----

“I am all nerves,” Chris said. “I cannot account for it.” 

“Is not now the ideal time to work that out?” I asked reasonably. “Before you submit to your master?”

We were alone together in my rooms, a cool evening breeze blowing on us through the screened windows. Dinner was uneventful, though I ensured Chris consume two goblets of wine in order to quell his nerves. It didn’t seem to have worked much.

“Where shall we begin?” he asked nervously. 

I thought a moment. “I have found it beneficial in the past to learn by example. If one has no knowledge or experience, how is he ever to learn anything?”

“That is a reasonable approach.”

“We will begin by disrobing. It is often the case that your master may want you to be ready when he calls for you. In those cases, the best option for you is to wear the least complicated clothing you can. This is why the loungewear we purchased for you is devoid of all but the most basic fastenings.” 

Chris nodded his understanding and glanced at his own attire. He wore a sheer midnight blue robe trimmed in palest blue over similarly colored harem pants and brocade slippers. I was similarly clad, in robes of black with silver embroidery. 

“These clothes offer little complication, and that is a good thing. It is not prudent for your master to be denied quick access to your, shall we say, charms.” 

“Charms?”

I pressed on. “That said, it is not unheard of, particularly early on in your acquaintance, for your master to prefer to pretend at some game of seduction. It is difficult to predict whether he will want you to be the seduced or the seducer, so pay careful attention as I demonstrate.”

He nodded his understanding and I gestured toward the chaise. He sat with his hands resting on his thighs. I sat beside him, close, but not enough to touch, though I could feel the warmth coming from him, and the nervous energy. 

I placed a hand upon his thigh, clasping the firm flesh companionably, felt him relax. I next took his hand, holding it gently and turning it over in mine. “You have a long lifeline,” I told him, tracing a fingertip over his palm.

“Have I? How do you know?”

“My grandmother was Akielon and taught me the basics of palm reading. This one is your love line. It tells me you have a strong heart, and a loyal one.” I bent my head over it and traced the line with the tip of my tongue. 

He swallowed. “It does?” 

I nodded and pressed my lips to the warm skin at his pulse point, pushing the sleeve of his robe up his arm. I rested my other hand on the inside of his thigh, pulling at him. I was relieved as he took my cue, turning toward me. It was pleasing to think he was not so nervous that he should pull away. 

I straightened and looked up; he returned my gaze evenly, the only trepidation I detected edged with excitement. I ran a finger along the clear line of his jaw and he shivered. “I would like to kiss you now,” I said. “May I?”

He closed his eyes as his breathing quickened and his lips parted to form an “O.” I used the hand at his jaw to turn his head just so, and took the plump lower lip I had been thinking of all afternoon between my own. I suckled for a moment then pulled away, and his eyes opened. He looked astonished. “Have you never been kissed?”

“It was never as nice as that.”

“There are many ways to kiss,” I replied as I slid my hand behind his neck and pulled him closer. This kiss had a bit more force behind it, and as I pulled back slightly, I licked at his mouth lightly with the tip of my tongue.

He was very responsive to this tactic, and pressed his body closer to mine. His hand pressed into my waist, tentative. “Oh,” he breathed, as I pulled away again. His eyes were wide now, as a sort of understanding passed behind them.

“I have only ever kissed other boys at school. Fumbling assignations behind book shelves. This way is much nicer.”

“The mouth plays an important part in lovemaking,” I said. “It can be used to kiss,” I kissed him again to demonstrate, paying still more attention to that lovely lower lip; it was now swollen and reddened, like a ripe cherry. “It can be used to soothe.” I sang to him then, a brief nursery song any child of Vere would recognize. He smiled in response, understanding my meaning. 

I pitched my voice low and reached for him, palm to his face as my thumb traced the pillowy richness of his lower lip. “And the mouth can be used to drive someone mad with desire.” I turned his head to the side and kissed him on the side of the neck. I could feel the quickening of his pulse beneath my lips and I smiled, then made my way downwards, parting the robe as I came to the hollow of his throat, worshiping each part of his body as I uncovered it. 

When I reached his chest, I eased the robe all the way open, and slid my hand about his waist for purchase as I paid his nipples the attention I had longed to ever since that morning in the stable yard. His body surged against mine as his desire became inflamed, the evidence of it tenting the soft fabric of the pants he wore. 

“Lay back,” I instructed and he immediately complied. “I am going to use my mouth on you.”

“Where?”

“Where else?” I answered as I unlaced the pants and pulled them down his legs and off. He was fully hard, and though I had seen him naked the day before, much larger than I remembered. I bent forward and hovered over him with parted lips. As my hand grasped him at the root, I could feel Chris tense beneath me, his abdomen rigid with tension. “Do you not wish—“

“Oh, I wish, I wish very much,” he replied. He looked as if he had won some prize. 

“Very well. I hope you will pay close attention,” I advised as I bent my head. “This is for your instruction, you understand.”

He made a kind of mewling sound I took for an affirmative and set to it. 

While it had been some time since I last performed the act, the mechanics of it were not forgotten. It was simple enough: I grasped his phallus firmly and wrapped my lips around the velvety head, fully engorged now and leaking pearlescent fluid. It was viscous on my tongue, the flavor unique to Chris though redolent of the others who preceded him. I pulled off, savoring it, glancing up at my partner. His face was flushed, as were his throat and chest, and his mouth remained open in that single, questioning, “O.” He breathed shallowly, body tensed as if afraid to move. But his eyes were bright, as if with fever, and he watched closely. I nodded approvingly and lowered my head again. 

“As you see, the copious production of saliva is an advantage in these cases,” I said a moment later, and it was true. The savor of him in my mouth had yielded such a result, and so I used it to provide instruction. “Note how it provides lubrication for my hand. You will no doubt have made a note of it previously, whilst having a go at yourself at home?”

His eyes flicked away. “Uh-huh.”

“And it is so with a partner. Does not my hand stroking you feel better with lubrication than without?”

He swallowed and nodded.

“As I said earlier, the mouth plays an important part in lovemaking. You can use it to tease,” I ran the rigid tip of my tongue just beneath the head of his prick, on the underside, and he groaned. “Or you may find it advantageous—depending on your goal—to apply an increased suction, like so.” I demonstrated. “It all depends on whether you would like to prolong your partner’s pleasure or hasten it.”

“Wh-why—?”

“For a variety of reasons, depending on the situation in which you find yourself.” I could tell he did not understand. It was a trait in him, this natural guilelessness, that I already mourned. He would have to work out for himself what behavior was warranted in certain situations, and I regretted that I could not lay out all possible scenarios for him myself. 

“I still don’t—“

“For now it is better to learn the how, and let the whys come later,” I said shortly, and bent to my task again. The weight of him in my mouth and the sweet sounds he made as I began to move were enough for me to forgive myself my snappishness. 

Soon I had given myself over to the task enough that my throat muscles could relax and I was able to accommodate the whole length of him. I drew back slowly and did it again, moving my hand down between his legs to cup his testicles. Despite the surfeit of it, the hair on them was soft and dark golden, their scent pleasingly musky. I buried my nose there willingly as I forgot for a moment the need to breathe, and let my throat muscles caress him.

“Zach! Sweet gods, Zach!” he said as I felt his well-formed cods begin to pull closer to his body. I drew back a bit but did not release him. “Zach!” 

A moment later, I felt the hot rush of his release at the back of my tongue, and I increased the suction of my mouth. His hips bucked up, but I managed to move with him, maintaining my hold, as I had once seen a calf do despite its mother’s restiveness and kicking feet. A moment later, he was done, and I pulled away, only grimacing a little at the bitter remainders on my tongue.

“I—you—“ he began, his voice rough and his chest heaving.

“It is probably best for you not to attempt speech yet,” I said gently as I laid myself beside him and pulled him against me. He was meek and pliant in my arms, like a sleepy kitten, his head a warm and welcome weight upon my chest. I traced lazy circles on his upper arm as he eventually settled.

“What about you?” he said after a time.

“Yes? What about me?”

He moved his hips so that he was half covering me, the press of his naked belly against my own erection causing it to jump enthusiastically. He pushed my silken pants down, freeing my cock, and rolled atop me, grinding his hips against me. I could not help the moan that escaped my lips. “Is this what you meant by fumbling assignations behind book shelves?” I asked, mildly shocked.

“We called it dueling,” he said. He was hovering over me with his hands on either side of me, in a position not dissimilar to the one I found him in that morning. “Like with swords? Only… you know.”

“How imaginative.”

He looked down at me with mischief in his eyes. The grin he offered was not wholly innocent, and with a quirk to his mouth his hips surged against me again and again. I opened my legs wider to accommodate him. The drag of our penises against one another was exquisite and I craved more friction. I urged him closer with my hands on his buttocks.

His movements brought his face closer to mine, and his lips. We kissed, and he frowned when he pulled away a moment later. “Is that what I taste like?”

“It is what we all taste like, more or less.”

He looked thoughtful, and then he kissed me again. “I shall have to get used to it.”

I nearly cried out as he ground against me with renewed force; how he was able to achieve another erection so soon was astounding, though I was not entirely of the right mind to appreciate it. 

He spat into his hand and worked it between us, taking both our pricks in hand. “I see you are already applying what I have taught you,” I breathlessly noted as the saliva eased the drag of skin-on-skin.

“I’m a quick study,” he said, and then he was kissing me again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zach takes Chris to explore the palace some more, including the barber and the Crown Prince’s library. Then, a dinner invitation from Lord Greenwood himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: sex between two teenagers; mention of past child sexual abuse; adult/teen smoochies in a master/pet context

The sound of birdsong woke me the following morning. 

It was early, the sky outside the windows only just kissed by the coming sun, the grey, pearlescent light slowly chasing the shadows out of my room. Far away I discerned the first furtive sounds of the palace coming awake; servants building fires, the kitchens beginning to send out trays to those who, like my master, were early risers. There was a breeze this morning, some hint of the coming autumn, perhaps, blowing cool and pleasant air upon my exposed body.

Chris lay beside me, curled up and asleep, his hair about his face and lips parted as if he would speak. His hands were clasped together beneath his chin, which was tilted up on the pillow beside mine. His beauty at rest was almost heart-stopping; I could not resist the urge to reposition a lock of golden hair from his brow, revealing his long lashes. They fluttered suddenly, and then he was awake. Bright blue eyes regarded mine for a moment, and then a smile, just as bright, greeted me.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Good morning.”

He reached for me with an arm about my waist and a leg draped over mine. “It is very early,” he observed, pushing his face against my shoulder.

“Yes.”

“I’ve never slept with another in my bed, not since I was a child seeking solace after a nightmare from my parents. I think I like it.”

“That is fortunate; your master will likely prefer it often.”

He raised his head to kiss me, ardently. Before I could complain of sour morning breath, his lips moved to my jaw and throat.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Practicing what you taught me last night,” he said, pushing the bedclothes off and slipping a warm hand down to grasp my morning-hardened member. My flesh leapt at his touch, and he bent his head down, eager mouth straining to engulf me.

“Watch the teeth, or I will have you flogged,” I warned, my cracking voice making the threat unconvincing. 

Merry eyes looked up at me, and he returned to his task, attempting to put into practice that which I had shown him the night before. Concentration on the mechanics of it was evident in his every motion, which didn’t make him very good—not yet. But as it had been some time since anyone had paid me such attention—Lord Nimoy was more interested in watching me solve puzzles or read to him than sexual congress—I found my body soon quickening to his touch.

“There are some men who would be flattered by that,” I said to Chris when he choked, attempting to swallow the length of me as I had done with him before. There were tears in his eyes and his face was reddening. “But please do not…” I paused as he complied, increasing suction on the sensitive head of my prick, “do not huh-hurt your… oh!” 

I flung an arm up to cover my eyes as I felt my body succumb too soon, emptying all I had into the warmth of his inviting mouth. 

I lay there a moment, trembling from the effects and the force of my reaction, when the gagging and coughing of my bed partner beside me forced my attention upon him once more. “You may spit it out, I will not be insulted,” I offered. “There you are, use the bedding, the servants will be in soon enough.”

“I am sorry,” he said, embarrassment turning his face, throat, and ears crimson. “I did not expect to react that way. You made it seem as easy as anything last night.”

“It is an acquired… talent. We will work on you being more circumspect in your reaction later. Come.” I held my arms out and we settled back together against the pillows. “That was an unexpected surprise at so early an hour, and I thank you.” I curled my arm and stroked the soft hair at the crown of his head. “I am reminded we should pay a visit to the barber today.”

“It’s not so bad!” Chris said, tugging at his overgrown locks self-consciously. “Is it?”

“The hair on your head? No, but there is still the matter of… the other areas of your body.”

“Must I?”

“Must you? Must you endeavor to walk upright, or obey the laws of king and country? Just as those things are good and natural, so too must you see to your proper grooming. We are not barbarians, after all. We are not Vaskian.”

“Some of us are. Partly.”

“Yes, and I’ve seen which parts.”

“Fine, I’ll do it, but you must come with me.”

“I wouldn’t miss that for the world.”

\----

“Chris? Chris, wake up, lad! Oh, it will never do, he’s fainted dead away.” I looked at Andre, the best of the palace barbers, the man who saw to Prince Laurent himself in better times, and raised my eyebrows, showing my frustration.

“This ain’t the first time this’s ‘appened, and it won’t be the last,” Andre pointed out. He folded his massive, muscular arms across his chest and shrugged.

“I have just never seen anything like it!”

“Makes it easier on me, if ‘e ain’t movin’ none.”

I waved a hand and bade him get on it. He, being a professional, made short work of it, trimming the thicket of growth about Chris’s privates back in no time at all. When he was done, Andre cleared away the area and applied a clean-smelling astringent.

By this point, Chris had begun to stir. I propped him up on the bench he had been lying on and secured him with an arm around his shoulders. 

“What... wha’ happen?” he murmured.

“You fainted.”

“I did?” He groaned and raised a hand to cover his eyes as memory returned. “I did. But when I saw such a large blade so close to my… ohhhh…” His head lolled back against my shoulder once more.

I held him fast and shook him. “Come now, it’s over, and you survived it! Get a hold on yourself.” I offered him a goblet of water.

“Oh, this will be quite the tale among the other pets, won’t it?” he said after draining it. 

“They won’t hear it from my lips.”

He sighed with relief. “Thank you.”

“And look,” I said, indicating his privates; Andre had trimmed the dark golden hair back very close to Chris’s body, as close as one might trim one’s beard. “You are now nearly presentable.”

“And I look bigger, too,” he said after a time. “That’s not so bad!”

“There you have it. Now, do you have your strength back? I have a surprise for you.”

He sat up and I could see that his color was beginning to look more like normal. “I am quite recovered. What is the surprise?”

“Get your pants on and I’ll take you there.”

\----

The Crown Prince’s Library at Arles was, in my opinion, one of the jewels in the Veretian crown. Established nearly two centuries ago by the man who would become King Philippe II, it included books and scrolls from the four corners of the known world. Pre-eminent philosophical treatises, histories, epic poems, scientific papers, and—most important to our Crown Prince—publications on military theory and history—could be found on its shelves. Its purpose was to instruct and mold the finest rulers from the princes of Vere’s monarchs. They, in turn, were expected to add to its greatness when they came to rule, whether it was to expand the collection itself or to take steps towards its preservation. Prince Laurent’s father commissioned a reading room to be built, and it was to this place that I brought Chris.

“Awake, good Master Cho! The Prince! The Prince has returned!” I shouted upon entry. Master Cho, the librarian, was bent over a long wooden table at the far end of the room, his nose in a manuscript and scribbling something on a bit of nearby parchment.

My outburst had the desired effect: he jumped with surprise and shouted, “What?! Where?! Now?!” while scrabbling to grab up parchment and quills and put his shoes on at the same time. When he saw my smirking face, he gave me a dark look, but came over anyway, muttering to himself. 

As ever, he was dressed shabbily, as if the intricacies of Veretian clothing were something beneath him. The cuffs of his sleeves and one side of his unlaced doublet were stained with inks of varying shades, his shirt hung out of his pants, similarly ink-stained and wrinkled. On his face he wore a contraption of his own design, a long, thin piece of metal he had taken many months of work to get the blacksmith to craft for him. It had been bent around two pieces of glass attached to two more pieces of metal, which he hooked around his ears to affix the strange appliance to his face. He called them “spectacles,” and he claimed they helped him to read the smaller print of certain manuscripts more clearly. In my opinion, they made him resemble an old barn owl, and a cranky one at that.

“That was not funny, Zachary, not funny at all. Sneaking up on people—why, you might have given me a heart attack!” Master Cho removed his spectacles and fit them carefully into a pouch he wore on a string around his neck. 

“Oh come now,” I said with a wide smile, picking up a quill from a nearby inkpot, “you are not that old to be worrying about heart palpitations! I imagine you are very likely going mad with boredom down here all alone, with no one to listen to you go on and on about indexing and cataloguing the collection.” I signed my name on a nearby scrap of parchment, adding a few extra flourishes to the “Q.”

“Give me that!” Cho said, snatching the quill away. “Prince Laurent appreciates my work—I was able to improve his research by as much as a third. He told me that himself before he… well, before he left.”

“No doubt.”

Cho eyed Chris suspiciously. “And who’s this? Not another of your useless _compagnons_ , Zachary? You know I can’t have anyone down here smearing jam on the books and maps.”

“Master Cho, when have I _ever_ abused your trust in me and brought anyone down here who did not offer the utmost respect to you and your work?” I asked, scandalized. I had neglected to visit for some weeks, and Master Cho was clearly making me suffer for it.

Cho narrowed his eyes and gave Chris the once-over. “There’s a first time for everything.”

“Well, it won’t be now. Christopher here is newly arrived at court, lately having spent two years at the great University at Bourçlet in the west.” Cho’s eyes widened in spite of his very evident desire to remain in a poor mood. “He, like you, is a young man of letters, whose greatest joy, before entering Lord Greenwood’s employ as his pet, was to be found in the written word.”

“Was it?” Cho asked.

Chris, taking his cue, nodded enthusiastically. “Oh yes! My primary areas of study were the classical Akielon playwrights—Alexandros of Ios, mostly.”

“You don’t say? We have an original translation of ‘The Swordsmith Cycle’ here in the collection. It’s quite rare.”

“Really? I usually just worked with the original ancient Akielon. Professor Abrams always insisted—“

“Did you say Professor Abrams?” Master Cho said, eyes widening in surprise.

“Yes, he was my teacher. Do you know him?”

“I know _of him_ , of course. His treatises on Alexandros are legend. And you say you worked with the originals?”

“The professor always insisted. He said working with translations was like a copy of a copy—mistakes were bound to happen. He never trusted them.”

“A wise man,” Cho said, nodding. “I say, do you suppose I could ask you to have a look at a scroll I have from Akielos? It is a treatise on their methods of close sword fighting, and the Prince was most keen on understanding its contents. And while both he and I can speak the Akielon language, neither of us can read it.”

“I would be happy to,” Chris said agreeably.

“Do not go away!” Cho said excitedly and ran off into the stacks of the library.

“Well, you’ve managed to impress Master Cho—that’s no mean feat.” Chris smiled bemusedly back at me. “You speak Akielon?” I asked him, impressed.

“I can only read it.”

“I do neither—perhaps you can teach me?”

“I’d like that.” 

Cho soon returned and the two of them spent the better part of the morning hunched over the scroll, leaving me to my own devices. I occupied myself with the large atlas that sat on one of the reading tables, taking in the details of geographies of countries I’d never heard of before and wondering what the people were like there. It was a favorite pastime, imagining what it was like to travel beyond the borders of Vere, what people one might encounter, or animals, or art and architecture. Part of me thought it would be nice to be a merchant, to have the luxury of my freedom to wander the four corners of the world. 

The morning turned quickly to afternoon, and eventually Cho sent to the kitchens for lunch. The food had only just arrived when word was brought via a servant that a long-awaited delivery of manuscripts from Patras had arrived. The crate was waiting on the docks, and would need Cho’s personal attention (read: bribery) if it was ever going to get through the customs minister.

“Oh, I must go and see that they have not been damaged, and then I must catalog them properly. The Prince—bless him, but the Prince will insist that his plan for the acquisition of important manuscripts not suffer and—I cannot believe they are delayed by the customs! This would not have happened if Prince Laurent was still here, oh!“

“Go, Master Cho, go!” I urged him. “You will have no peace until you see to it. We will remain here and enjoy our lunch, and Christopher will complete what he can of the translation for you.”

“You are too kind. I thank you!” With a single, distracted wave he rushed from the library, leaving Chris and I alone again. We served ourselves and settled on benches in a small alcove beside the main entrance. I knew Master Cho would approve the choice of location, as none of the books or scrolls would be endangered by spills or greasy fingers. 

“He is an odd duck, Master Cho,” Chris observed at length.

“He is alone too long with his books, I think he forgets how to comport himself with people.”

“It is very much the way with scholars,” Chris agreed. “They are happier with their books.”

“It surprises me that you would pursue a life of study, though,” I said. “You are far more sociable than someone like Cho.”

“You’re not the first one to ask, believe me,” Chris said. When he was thoughtful, I noticed, he tended to use his hands a great deal as he spoke. “I think it is the thrill of the pursuit of learning that excites me so, the research that leads to a reference that leads to a discovery. It is very much like going on a quest, I think, only the field of adventure is a library, and the sword or staff is a pen.”

“You make it sound almost exciting.”

“It is.” He took up a bunch of grapes and chewed thoughtfully. “This has been one of the most wonderful mornings of my life since I left the university—thank you.” His eyes shone with gratitude.

“It cost me nothing,” I said, “and now I think you have made a friend for life.”

“Master Cho is most agreeable. Once one gets to be on his good side.”

I laughed. “You have found your way there in record time—and without the need for sexual favors, so cheers to you.” I raised my wine goblet and he raised his.

“That reminds me of something I’ve been meaning to ask,” Chris said, his manner suddenly solemn.

I was unsure if I wanted to know what might have taken his sunny mood away so suddenly; I indicated that he should continue.

“You have mentioned it on more than one occasion, the practice of trading sexual favors for certain… considerations. Is that… is that what’s to be expected of me?”

I shrugged. “It is a form of currency we pets have ready access to, though I am afraid I may have left you with an erroneous impression. As pets, we are not at liberty to offer of ourselves to anyone other than our masters, not without permission.”

“But I thought you just said you’d dallied with Master Cho in the past?”

“That is correct, but I rely on two things for my safety: one, that Master Cho will be as discreet as I in such matters, and two, that my own master does not care what I do with my spare time, as long as it does not bring embarrassment to him. But that is my situation. It is not the way for other pets, and each one’s arrangement with his or her master is unique and personal. To disobey—or worse, to bring shame to one’s master—is the quickest way to ignominy and disgrace. You don’t want to have your contract nullified, not for anything.”

If anything, Chris looked even more discomfited by my explanation. “But you and I… we have… done things.”

“But that is sanctioned, you see? I have been asked to give you basic instruction in the pleasure arts, and as your tutor, I must… use practical examples, mustn’t I?” He still appeared confused. “Once your training is done, we will no longer be allowed. In fact, relations among pets—outside the ring—is strictly forbidden.”

He cast his eyes down, staring at his hands in his lap. 

“It does not mean we cannot be friends,” I pointed out. “In fact, I hope that may happen anyway.”

Large, blue eyes as clear as a cloudless sky looked into mine, hope chasing upset away as quickly as it had descended. “I would like that.”

“I would as well,” I said, swallowing away the thickness that had crept into my voice for some unknown reason.

We were interrupted by the appearance of a servant, a man I recognized as one of Lord Nimoy’s personal attendants. “What is it?” I asked.

“Lord Nimoy bade me find you both, to let you know he is dining with Lord Greenwood tonight, and that you are both required to attend them.”

My eyes widened. “So soon?” I said without thinking.

“So soon? What…what is so soon?” Chris asked, puzzled.

I waved a hand, dismissing the servant. “It is... nothing, I am merely surprised we are to be called upon.” I rose and Chris, sensing my urgency, did as well. “We must return to the pets’ quarters at once to ready ourselves. Or perhaps the baths first. Yes, the baths.” I looked up at Chris. “I am sorry to say, it is time for your first official evening attending your master.” I had not had the time to tutor him properly in Veretian customs for pets in social situations at all, _none at all_! This was not ideal. 

“Come,” I said, my mind racing over what must be done first. “We must ready ourselves.”

\----

We made a quick stop at the baths—long enough only to wash and perfume ourselves, there was no time for massages or that sort of thing. I reflected that it was fortuitous that we’d visited the barber earlier in the day, for if Chris was to present himself in company, at least he would be presentable below the waist. 

There was barely time for the application of scented oils, for I rushed us back to our own quarters to dress and make ourselves ready. The matter of what I would wear was not important—though I had new fur-trimmed slippers I had been dying to have an occasion to wear. It was what Chris did and how he looked that mattered more. Though we had had less than three days together, it would be a reflection upon me—and my master—if Chris was able to excel this evening or if he was not. The importance of this, his first outing, could not be underplayed, and I knew Lord Nimoy would see it that way as well. And though I said nothing of the kind about it—thinking it a kindness not to—Chris nevertheless picked it up on my urgency and tone.

“Oh, I’ve torn it!” he cried at one point, as he was attempting to draw on the bit of satin cord and sheer silken pouch that would serve as a loincloth beneath the harem pants he would wear. As this was not a formal or state dinner, we would not be called upon to wear our finest clothes, therefore standard pet lounging attire was appropriate. Nevertheless, it soon became apparent that Chris had not yet become adept at some of the complexities.

“We can have it repaired later, use the other one,” I advised. 

He fumbled with the slip of cloth, but no matter what he did, his fingers seemed too clumsy, his hands too large and ungainly to manage it.

“Will you allow me?” He didn’t so much indicate his agreement as much as his entire posture signaled his surrender. I took the garment and sorted it out. “You see, this cord goes up the back, and you put your legs through these two openings, and then it ties in the front.”

“What, up my bum?” he asked, incredulous.

I refrained from the obvious comment, instead kneeling down and holding the garment ready for him. “Put your foot through here,” I instructed, and he complied, following suit with the other foot. I drew the garment up his legs and over his hips, pulling the straps tight. At last, I came to the front, adjusting the silken pouch around his tackle, and checking the fit before tying the straps up in the front. I drew back, inspecting my handiwork. 

“We will need to go back to the clothier and get you the next size up,” I observed.

“How do you know I am not just pleased to see you?” he asked.

“I know you are pleased to see me; that is the problem. Now here!” I threw his pants at him. “Try not to embarrass yourself in getting these onto your body.”

I left him to it while I attempted to get my own clothes on; a lack of noise behind me caught my attention—something else was wrong. “What is it?” I asked, turning to find him seated on his bed, pants on but unlaced.

“I don't... I don’t know what I’m doing, I don't know how to... to _act_ tonight, Zach.” 

He was shaking, I observed, his eyes wide and face pale—Chris was legitimately frightened. “What do you mean?”

“How to eat, what fork to use, what to _say_.”

I approached him like I would a skittish horse, with my palms facing out, and when it was clear my approach was welcomed, I slipped my arm around his shoulders and sat beside him. “You've eaten at table before—surely your parents taught you basic table manners, yes?” He nodded. “Wouldn't your father have entertained important business associates?”

“Yes, but I mean, the harbor master and his wife don't really count.”

“But they do. The mechanics are much the same. You offer conversation when called upon, you laugh at their jokes even if they are not funny, and you try not to spill anything down your front. If you run into anything strange, just look to me for guidance. I'll demonstrate what to do.” 

He still seemed unsure of himself. “But what of how to act in front of my master? I have not the flirtatious air about me as others like Anton do.”

“That I would consider an advantage, but it is not the nature of your question. I think the answer will lie with your master. How did he act towards you on your journey here?”

“He was kind. He let me have my own room. And he always called me 'my boy.' He would pat me on the head, like a fond uncle.”

“There you have it. He is kind and patient.” Some masters -- the better ones -- liked to earn their pets’ trust, and it seemed Lord Greenwood was one such man. 

“That's a good thing?”

I rubbed his shoulder and some of the tension began to fade away. “That is a good thing. Now. We must finish getting ready. I will want to apply the paint to your face myself—you’re too nervous to get it right!”

\----

Dinner was to be held in the Rose Room, a small dining room in the main part of the palace so-named for the immense, carved ivory rose set in its ceiling. It was two hundred years old and the centerpiece for an elaborate crystal chandelier that the queen, Prince Laurent’s mother and Lord Greenwood’s sister, had had brought from her childhood home in the west and had installed here. The decor in the room took its inspiration from it, with roses to be found in the paintings, the wall paper, the rugs, the upholstery and china, even carved into the legs of the table. 

The room was empty when we arrived, but for a few servants, who snapped into action and began pouring out wine and laying down platters of delicacies immediately. The table—built to accommodate eight—was surrounded by the customary double seats that easily accommodated a noble and his or her pet. The seats were little more than purpose-built chaises, with plush upholstery and pillows designed for flirty lounging and actual dining from time to time. I chose the seat on the side of the table that faced away from the door; Lord Greenwood, as the higher-ranking noble, would claim the seat opposite. I indicated that Chris should sit as I was, to the left of his lordship to always be at the ready. 

“Drink,” I said, lifting my own goblet. I hoped the wine would calm him; despite my last minute reassurances that all would go well, he'd been as nervous as a cat, licking and biting at his lips for the last hour. “And stop fidgeting.”

I caught him with his hand reaching for one of the small pastries on the nearest platter; it was one I’d had many times before, a flaky, rich concoction filled with minced, spiced chicken liver. “You may have one if you are hungry,” I said. 

He chose one off the platter and popped it in his mouth, chewing with gusto.

“It is customary for pets to eat a choice morsel first; you will observe that their masters will often feed them tidbits. Nowadays it is a harmless indulgence, but in days past, it was to ensure the food was not poisoned.” 

Chris’s mouth dropped open, offering an unwelcome view. “Poison?”

“Do not trouble yourself, it hardly ever happens anymore.”

He swallowed. “You’re joking. Sometimes I can’t tell, but this time I know it.”

I smiled and drank my wine, resolving to break the truth of it to him later. Pets were far more expendable than the nobility.

“This pastry reminds me of ones they used to serve at banquets at the university,” he said after consuming another. 

“Oh?”

“They were always filled with fruits there. My favorite was the apricot. Sometimes the students were allowed to have whatever was left over from the table. And sometimes Professor Abrams would bring them to me.”

“He was a kind man? Your professor?”

“He could be. When I first arrived, he especially took an interest in my studies. We would have long conversations, late into the night, about the Akielon texts. Sometimes, when it was very late, he would let me sleep in a real bed!”

“His bed?” I asked.

“Why yes. But—oh! Nothing ever happened! Nothing untoward. He liked to watch me sleep, he said.” 

“Naturally.”

“We would talk about the deeper meaning of the texts—he was of the opinion they were proof the Akielon people were and always will be barbarians. He said to read anything more into them was to give more credit than was due.”

“Yours was a dissenting opinion?”

“It was my contention the ancient texts must be interpreted within the cultural context of the time they were written, but could also to be looked at as instructive to their audience. Like a morality play, you see? A means to teach the basics of a society's mores and scruples. I feel that to judge the current civilization by the literature of its forebears is to discount centuries of progress and development.”

“Your professor was accepting of this line of thought?”

Chris smiled ruefully. “The pastries became much more infrequent after that argument.”

I picked one of the pastries up in my fingers and looked at it closely. “These pastries remind me of an inn—the Busted Guppy. It is on the main Arles road, close to Chastillon. It is one of the house specialities.” 

“I know the place,” Chris said. “We stopped there on our way here.” 

“Was your journey pleasant?”

“It was uneventful. Lord Greenwood's entourage included twenty men at arms, so we passed unmolested along the high road.”

I did not know that piece of information—that Lord Greenwood must travel with a small regiment was telling. I resolved to bring it up with Lord Nimoy later.

Chris went on, “But you say you have traveled through there yourself? Tell me all about it. I confess the journey to Arles has been my only experience with travel. Where else have you been?”

“I have been to Varenne and Toulouse, and of course to Chastillon for the hunts.”

“How exciting that Lord Nimoy travels so often. I was given to understand he mainly keeps to Arles in recent years.”

“He does. I refer to my experiences with my former master, Lord Cumberbatch. He was a great traveler, with a great many in his retinue.”

“Oh? A full regiment?”

I snorted at the idea. “No. No, he has a great many hangers-on, those who have benefited from his _largesse_. This is something Lord Cumberbatch thrives upon, of course, because great men enjoy being told they are great.”

“Was he a kind master?”

My mind recalled, quite against my will, my first night in service, and of a request to demonstrate my talents. Fourteen and eager to please, I was asked to play my lyre and sing. My voice was still high and sweet, and I performed the piece well. Afterwards, my virtue was made a gift to the man who delivered the most flattering compliments, his words barely-veiled praise of Lord Cumberbatch himself. “He is attentive to those that matter to him,” I said in a flat voice. 

Thankfully, Chris changed the subject. “But now you are with Lord Nimoy.” 

“And I could not ask for a better, more learned, or kinder master,” I said truthfully. After little more than a year, when Lord Cumberbatch made it known he was looking for a new pet, Lord Nimoy had offered to buy out my contract. Cumberbatch had jumped at the chance—he had not expected to recoup my original price. He and his forces now fought at the Regent's side in the south.

Our conversation was interrupted by voices of men approaching from the corridor. Soon their Lordships entered. 

I had never before met Lord Greenwood, but he was a handsome man, with distinguished, greying hair and eyes the color of sapphires. His look and his manner bespoke of an inner cunning and intelligence, or so I discerned, and I immediately adjusted my estimation of him. That he was of vital importance to the plans of my master was something I knew; how difficult swaying him to our cause would be remained to be seen. One glimpse of him, however, and I knew we would need to take care not to antagonize him. 

Chris and I rose to greet them, I taking the lead. “My Lord,” I said, walking smoothly over to Nimoy and sliding into his open arms. 

“Zachary, it is always a pleasure,” he said in his deep rumble of a voice, and I could not resist a small shiver at the obvious sincerity in his tone. 

Chris followed, coming around the table corner perhaps a little too enthusiastically, for he managed to trip on the foot of one of the chaises. He quickly recovered, though Lord Greenwood did not seem to care. His countenance softened almost as soon as he laid eyes on Chris. He held a hand out to his young pet and Chris went to him. “How are you, my boy?” he murmured into Chris’s soft hair as they embraced, and he placed a kiss upon his unwrinkled brow. “Oh my, look how pretty you are for me,” he added, holding Chris at arms’ length, his hands on the young man’s shoulders. 

“You like it?” Chris asked nervously, a shy smile on his lips. He plucked at the sheer blouse he wore; with the light of the room behind it, one could see directly through it, and I could see the moment Lord Greenwood realized this. I couldn’t help but feel some small sense of satisfaction for my efforts. 

Lord Greenwood noticed, too, the golden lock and chain Chris still wore that had been his gift. “Well done. Quite well done,” he said, his eyes twinkling as he tapped at the charm with a fingertip.

“Shall we dine?” Lord Nimoy said, and we all sat.

I arranged myself at Nimoy’s side, close enough that our bodies touched. We fell into our usual rhythm, one well-practiced after years together. I called the servant over to pour him wine, and he offered his goblet to me to drink. Having already sampled the pastries, I served him a few from the platter. He fed me one with a smile and wiped his fingers delicately onto his napkin. These days, such fare was too rich for him, but he liked to see me enjoy it.

Across the table, Chris watched us but looked at a bit of a loss. He looked to Lord Greenwood who, still all smiles, poured out more wine for them both. He offered his goblet to Chris, who took a sip. Greenwood smiled encouragingly and watched as Chris copied my behavior, serving his master some of the pastries. 

“Have you already had some?” Greenwood asked.

Chris looked away demurely. “Yes.”

“Were they delicious? They look delicious.”

“Yes.”

“I will bet I could still taste them on your lips.”

Chris blushed to his neckline and further. “Now you would taste only wine, my lord.”

Greenwood laughed as if he had heard the best joke of his life and popped a pastry into his mouth.

“Your new pet is charming, Bruce,” Nimoy said.

“I thank you, Leonard. And I agree.” He smiled once more at Chris, truly appearing to be smitten. “He is comely to be sure, and as smart as a whip. You know, he has had two years at university?”

“Impressive.”

“Indeed.” Chris was staring at his hands in his lap now, his blush deepening; I could tell he was discomfited to be the center of attention. “And just look at him, the color of fresh beets!”

“Please, my lord,” Chris murmured. 

“And as modest as a maid,” Greenwood added, clearly pleased. “Do not worry, my boy, I will embarrass you no further,” he caressed Chris’s cheek, coaxing him to raise his chin. “Why, you are as warm as may be. Do you want a cooling cloth?” He snapped his fingers and a servant produced a goblet of water, into which Greenwood dipped his own handkerchief. Wringing it out, he applied it to the back of Chris’s neck. “There now, there,” he said soothingly, until Chris smiled once more. 

“He is all innocence,” Nimoy observed.

“I prefer it—I like it better to break them in myself, do you see? Then I know where their true allegiance lies. I will not abide disloyalty in my household.”

“A prudent policy.”

“Indeed. And I must thank you for offering the service of your own pet in his training. While I prefer a new pet, it is preferred they have _some_ skill, is it not?” 

He laughed heartily, and Lord Nimoy smiled to indicate his agreement. “I am honored to be of service to you in this way. My Zachary is one of the most accomplished pets at court.”

The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the first course. I caught Chris’s eye as the plates were being laid down, but they were unreadable. I surmised he was finding it hard to be spoken of as if he was an object, but when one’s central purpose was adornment, it was inevitable. If we were lucky, the conversation would move on to other things. 

The first course was escargots in their shells, a personal favorite of mine, and of Lord Nimoy, who made a small, pleased sound when his plate was placed down. As I ate the first snail from his fork, I noted Lord Greenwood coaxing Chris to do the same. He was pleased when Chris took the morsel in his mouth, seemingly reluctantly. 

When the lad’s face brightened upon tasting the delicacy, Greenwood asked, “You like it?”

“I didn’t expect it to be so good,” Chris responded. 

Greenwood met my eye a moment later, and gave me a smug smile. “There will be many good surprises while you are with me, dear one.”

The main course was to be duckling, served with the traditional accompaniments. Lord Greenwood bade the servants put both portions on his own plate and fed Chris himself, taking delight in his pleasure and enthusiasm for the food. “Do you like it?” he asked, his response a fervent nod. “May I coax a kiss?” Chris lowered his eyes. “Perhaps later?” Chris nodded again. 

Once more Lord Greenwood looked up to find me watching. I leaned back to arrange myself languidly along my lord’s side, as he had already finished eating and was reclining back against the chaise. 

“Tell me, Bruce, how go things in your home district? Is trade thriving?” Nimoy reached for his wine nad sipped deeply.

This was a loaded question. If trade was “thriving,” it meant Lord Greenwood was outfitting his troops for war. Being one of the largest landholders in all of Vere—and the Lord Protector of the country’s western border—if that were the case, then it could be an indication that he was preparing to join the fray.

“Oh, you know how it can be during times of unrest,” Greenwood replied airily, wiping his fingers on a napkin. He nudged at Chris and offered him more wine; Chris politely demurred. 

“Is that what we are calling it? Unrest?”

“Would ‘insurrection’ be a better word?”

“I imagine it would depend upon one’s point of view,” Nimoy said as the servants took the dinner plates away and replaced them with bowls of fruit and nuts.

“Shall we settle on ‘unpleasantness’?” Greenwood’s manner was light, but his eyes held a challenge, one I knew my master would not back down from. 

_Unpleasantness_ was the term the Regent had taken to using in the absence of his nephew the Crown Prince, and its use was fraught with meaning. Was Lord Greenwood testing Lord Nimoy’s loyalties? And to whom? We had no indication whether Greenwood supported his nephew or not, and Lord Nimoy had taken great pains over the last several months to retain the appearance of neutrality.

I had the sudden impression of two fighting dogs sizing one another up. I glanced at Nimoy, could see his eyes harden, but if he played his hand too soon and Lord Greenwood did not support his nephew as Nimoy did… 

“Shall we have music?” I asked loudly, rising from my seat and turning a bright smile on everyone in the room, fluttering my eyelashes like a simpleton. “I have brought my lyre.” I held a hand out and one of the servants brought it to me.

Lord Nimoy blinked up at me with astonishment, but I could tell he approved my intervention after a moment’s consideration. “Yes. Yes, my boy, that… that would be welcome indeed.” 

In my relief, I smiled, and hoped it appeared as if I was pleased to have their attention upon me. 

I took my lyre to the front of the room and gave it a few strums of the strings, testing to be sure it was still in tune. Chris leaned forward in his seat, humming a tune, one I knew, so I played it. It was a traditional Veretian air, one commonly used for a variety of folk songs and hymns. Presently, Chris began to sing one of the more popular ones,

“Beauty sat bathing by a spring where fairest shades did hide her...  
The winds blew calm, the birds did sing, the cool streams ran beside her.  
My wanton thoughts enticed mine eye to see what was forbidden,  
But better memory said ‘fie’ so vain desire was chidden.

Hey, nonny nonny, oh, hey nonny nonny.  
Hey, nonny nonny, oh, hey nonny nonny.”

Chris had risen during the chorus and was clapping along with it joyously. Their lordships, I noticed, were captivated by his clear voice and obvious enthusiasm, and I was happy to see that the tension in the room had dissipated. I played more diligently as Chris went on to the second verse. 

“Into a slumber then I fell when fond imagination,  
Seemed to see but could not tell her feature or her fashion.  
But e'vn as babes in dreams do smile and sometimes fall a-weeping,  
So I awaked as wise this while as when I fell a-sleeping.”

As he got to the chorus once more, Chris encouraged his audience to join him and clap along; even the servants were smiling and taking part.

“Hey, nonny nonny, oh, hey nonny nonny.  
Hey, nonny nonny, oh, hey nonny nonny.”

When the song was done, everyone applauded, and Chris took a smart bow. He then clapped for me, and I rose to bow as well.

“Bravo! Bravissimo!” Lord Nimoy called out, rising and clapping me on the back as I returned to his side.

“Oh, that was marvelous, simply marvelous!” Lord Greenwood said, approaching Chris where he stood, opening his arms for an embrace. Chris laughed, his eyes brightening as he went to his master. A moment later, they kissed, a chaste brushing of lips; when they parted, Chris raised a hand, fingertips touching his lips. Lord Greenwood murmured something to him, something I could not hear, and Chris smiled once more, the hint of another blush rising to his cheeks. They parted, and his lordship returned to the table, taking up his wine goblet once more.

“Such an enjoyable evening this has been! We must have you both recreate the experience and perform that song for the Equinox Festival.”

“The Equinox Festival, my lord?” Nimoy said, unable to hide his astonishment. 

“Why yes, my lord, do not tell me we do not still honor the gods in Arles, and thank them for the bounties of the harvest?”

“We do, of course we do, but I did not think it appropriate to celebrate in quite the same manner as has become traditional. I thought a more restrained, reflective celebration would be more appropriate this year.”

“Why should we not? Just because there is unrest in the land, and civil war?”

The use of the words ‘civil war’ were lost on no one in the room, even Chris, who looked mildly alarmed. But Lord Greenwood went on, his tone reasoning. “Of course, as the nominal head of the government while the Regent is absent, it will fall to you to decide if it is fitting or not, my good Lord Nimoy. I do not want to step on any toes.”

“My toes are fine.”

“There then, it’s settled. We shall have the customary feasts and revelries.”

“How wonderful!” Chris said, clapping his hands with delight. Truly, while the autumnal festival was traditionally held in most towns in Vere, tales of the annual bacchanal hosted in Arles were well-known throughout the land. 

“Will it please you?” Greenwood asked his young pet.

“I do not know if my pleasure matters, sir.”

Greenwood took the lad’s face between his bejeweled hands. “It matters to me.”

Chris smiled widely, and the conversation moved on to general plans for the feast day.

It was some hours later that the party finally broke up. Chris had begun drooping visibly at the table, the victim of too long a day and too much wine. Even I, a veteran of many a protracted state dinner, was beginning to lose my ability to follow the conversation. When Chris dozed off, his chin hitting his chest as his head fell forward, Lord Greenwood made his apologies for keeping him up. He suggested a meeting with Lord Nimoy and his staff the next day to begin preparations for the festival, which was only four weeks away. 

As we left, it happened—possibly by chance, but more than likely not—that Lord Nimoy and Chris walked down the corridor at the head of the party, and Lord Greenwood and I at the rear. He strolled at my side, taking in the artworks on the walls as we passed. “Chris is very tired, my poor lamb,” he observed; as if on cue, the lad tripped over his slippers, which were arguably too large for him.

“He is unaccustomed to such long evenings,” I said. “He will soon learn to compensate.”

“He will have a good long rest tonight?”

“I will look after it myself, my lord.”

“Good, good.” He stopped walking and, since I was accompanying him, I did too. “Your tutelage with him is already apparent to me—I must thank you again.”

“It is my pleasure, lord.”

“Yes, but I am sensitive to the fact that to be saddled with a naïf such as he might be perceived as something of an unpleasant assignment.” He pressed a small item, wrapped in cloth, into my hand. “I _appreciate it_.”

“Thank you. My Lord Greenwood is most generous.”

He waved a hand. “It’s nothing, it’s my pleasure. But it brings me to the reason I would speak with you. The festival is in one month, and I view that as the perfect time to enjoy Christopher’s… newly-acquired skills.”

“Oh yes, my lord, I’m happy to teach him anything I might know, though you should see him ride—he’s got a bit of Vaskian blood in him and it’s quite evident in the way—“

“That is not what I meant. I mean I expect, by that time, that you will have schooled him appropriately in matters more… erotic. I don't much care if he knows how to comport himself at table and recite pretty verse.”

I closed my mouth, my teeth clicking together audibly. “Of course.”

Greenwood clasped my shoulder with his hand, squeezing the muscle just shy of painfully. “You have already done wonders with him in just two days. I look forward to seeing what you may do given four weeks.”

“Four weeks?” 

“Now then, I don’t expect him to be as—shall we say wanton?—as some of the other pets about the palace. Half his charm lies in the fact butter would not melt in that beautiful mouth. But I also want him to know well what will be expected of him.”

I looked into his eyes. “And what will be expected of him, my lord?”

“I am a simple soldier, Zachary, my tastes are quite pedestrian. But they include someone sharing my bed who is as _willing_ and as _giving_ as I. Do you see?”

“I believe I do, sir.”

He smiled and patted me on my cheek. “I thought so. Good night to you.”

“Good night, my lord.”

When he had gone, I remembered the small item he had pressed into my hands. It was wrapped in a bit of soft velvet, and tied with a silken ribbon. I opened it to find a small, exquisitely carved ivory pot. Its lid was hinged, so I opened it. A pleasant aroma wafted to my nostrils—it was a substance I was familiar with, oil of coconut—and I marveled at the rarity and expense of such a commodity, to be placed in my hands. 

Its purpose, however, was unmistakable: Lord Greenwood meant for me to take Chris’s virginity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Chris sings is “Hey Nonny Nonny” by The Violent Femmes.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for your time.


End file.
